Entangle
by Dorminchu
Summary: v. - to wrap or twist together, to involve in a perplexing or troublesome situation.


_a/n: I should not write crack-fics. But dang, this was a great exercise in channeling my inner Cormac McCarthy—note the lack of commas and quotation marks!—and it also gave birth to the term omni-dimensional bondage. Feel free to use both of these at your own peril._

* * *

It is May. The air is dry with the encroaching summer and the skies are blue spotted with white through the gaps in the canopy.

Eren Jaeger is sailing through a forest. Heat and exertion daub him in sweat and cake his clothes and he wishes for a shower.

His fellow soldiers are zooming past. Drifting away. He is falling behind of his own volition and the others fade into the blurring green-brown foreground and he lapses into idle contemplation of another as he soars among the trees and the paths of sunlight dance in whirring beams across the muddled world.

This distraction will cost him but he does not know it until his fingers only twitch on the gas triggers and he misses his mark and with a shout he plummets.

The world dives with him and his heart races but he fights down the rushing panic. He twists around and spins against the force and his hooks snag deep into the tree coming up to meet him and the whiplash rattles him with a choked-off gasp and the leather straps dig into his flesh and the metal canister bites into his hips and he is stunned.

He recovers and finds himself hanging as Gravity's prisoner and the soles of his boots barely brush a nearby branch twice as big as him. He struggles like a wild animal in the trap of a hunter but finds no relief.

He's not alone for long. Someone else lands by his side.

How did you manage it?

He knows who this is. His stomach plummets in equal parts humiliation and relief and disgruntlement. At least it's not Jean this time. Or Mikasa.

Ah, he says. I…I lost control.

This is a shoddy lie but she does not point this out.

Hold still and I'll help you.

Eren stops struggling. She leans down and gets to work untying him.

I really do appreciate this, he tells her awkwardly.

Don't mention it.

His left arm is free and his leg is almost there.

Annie, he says without thinking. She glances at him and her hair is silver-gold in the light and her eyes bore tiny holes into him. You — He tries for words and wonders if he should stop before he does something really stupid. Too late. Come here? he asks.

She drops his leg and stands up and leans over so they're face to face. He pushes against his restraints and his arm is free thanks to her efforts. He grapples about and catches one pale wrist and finds she is as warm as him and the thought settles someplace lower. She regards him carefully.

Are you all right ?

Can I, um, he mutters. Can I kiss you?

She raises her eyebrows and he should be perturbed at how well she appears to be taking this request.

Aren't you a bit tangled up to be—?

But he moves in because he's got one arm free and she huffs and regards his mouth passed awkwardly over hers then tilts her head and welcomes him in with a sweep of her tongue and her mouth is wet and warm inside and her bangs stick to her forehead. He breaks off for air and dips his head down and plants a hazy kiss against her whitish throat.

So, what's this about? she murmurs.

I think about you often, his mind supplies. What he says is:

Whatever you want it to be.

Oh, she says. Is that so.

She's messing with him. He finds he doesn't mind so much.

Suddenly she shifts her weight so she's behind him and then she's on top of his back. And his mind jumps to the phantom sensation of steel and manacles and the taste of blood on his tongue and something inside him trembles with ill memories.

His breath sticks in his throat.

She is close and he cannot reach her and a curious smile paints itself across her pale mouth and he feels it against his cheek. She's draped across his back with his arms pinned between them like an absurd piggyback ride and her legs fold halfway over his and she's almost straddling him.

Don't worry, she says softly. I'll let go if you need me to.

All right.

She kisses his jaw and slips her hand down his clothed chest and begins working at his belts.

Would you hel— she begins and then stops and changes pace to: Hold still, and resumes her business.

He relaxes slightly under her touch. He knows he should protest because they aren't even remotely close to being alone out here and this is a terrible idea and what if he falls and will she be all right—and then she snakes a deft hand down his unbuttoned trousers and his mind goes stubbornly blank.

It's strange how the tables have turned and he feels her breath along his shoulder and her chin resting there and the leather and metal digging into his body and her hand is purposeful around him. He thrusts up hard into her fist and the empty air and she catches her breath and he remembers that this is new for the both of them. Heat gathers in his belly and he feels a jolt behind his navel when he falls back into his restraints. He stifles a gasp of disorientation and pleasure and his teeth graze his tongue on accident. And he fears he will pierce flesh and grits his teeth.

You're pretty tense, she mutters, and he half-laughs, half-groans.

They start again. He rocks and she sighs and her hips jump a little against his back and he feels her arm shift and he wonders if she's touching herself but he can't see and her mouth trails along his shoulder to the back of his neck and his head drops and his hips tremble and he's too warm to think. She has a hand flat and fingers spread on his naked waist and every now and then her nails will bite softly at the dip in his pelvis and maybe this wasn't the best idea because his legs are close to buckling. He strains against her tiny frame to no avail.

A-Annie— he croaks.

She hums against his nape.

Let me g— _fuck_ , move, he pleads. She stops her hand.

I will, if you show me what you want, she says, and her voice is husky.

Show her what, his mind thinks but his cock twitches anyway and he understands.

Sure, fine, he mutters peevishly.

And she lets his arm go and wraps her own partially around his chest. He feels her free hand slip under his and he entwines their fingers and brushes his calloused thumb over her knuckles and his eyes flutter when she takes him back in hand.

It's almost dreamlike. It is dreamlike. And he guides her and he's already close but it doesn't matter.

She lets him rut against her smaller hand under his and the rest is easy and he comes with a strangled noise and his hips jerk up against nothing and he falls back dizzy and euphoric into the dry heat and her weight on his back.

When he regains some composure she slides off his back onto solid ground and her hand is sticky with him and he feels a little swoop in his gut that is completely unrelated to the fading vertigo as she wipes it on the tree and her pant leg.

She's kind enough to untie him before she leaves.

He hastens to make himself presentable and checks his gear and finds nothing wrong. He's jittery, still warm and buzzing and then Jean's voice calls out from somewhere in the trees and Eren has never felt so furious. He prays that he does not know what has happened. He wishes for this but knows that it is not so and Jean is already gone by the time he has formed his retort.

When they land Eren finds him amongst the others and gives him hell. Jean just laughs it off. Eren fumes. Except now Jean's face is full of curious bewilderment instead of smug understanding and Eren goes from angered to horrified and wishes stronger than anything that he'd had the sense to keep his mouth shut.

* * *

 _a/n: Damn it, Xaelijor. This is half your fault, you glorious cinnamon roll. You're awesome._


End file.
